The crumple of plastic wakes me.
For the past week, there's been… something in my room, messing with my stuff. Snacks strewn across my desk, droplets of soda stickying my keyboard, things out of place. A bug, I'd think, if only I hadn't noticed a few tabs left open on my computer's browser just last night. No roach I ever saw liked Fullmetal Alchemist, I'll tell you that one for free.
Probably fucking Claire again. If she thinks that being the older sibling means she gets to go through my shit like she owns it, I'm gonna —
Crinkle crinkle.
I toss the blankets back. Fuck it, I'm not impotently sitting here on my ass while something skitters around in my room. I'm going to catch this whatever-or-whoever-it-is red-handed.
My vision is slow to adjust to the dim slivers of moonlight glinting through the cracked-open window, curtains curling and fluttering in the cool night breeze that skims the linen fabric. Huh. Could've sworn I closed the window before I went to bed. Padding over, I press a hand against the wood and push it down, lower rail meeting sill with a faint thunk. Sleep crusts the corners of my eyes, and I rub them one-handedly as I turn to scan the room.
Nothing and nobody. It looks the same as ever — what my sister's termed my "filthy gamer hobo-cave" and what I call "organized chaos." I mean, it's not that bad. Just, you know… a little messy. Shelves stuffed to the brim with my ever-growing collection of games, comics, and figurines, a chair buried under a stack of still-clean-enough clothes, a few half-empty chip bags and open soda cans dotting the desk around my keyboard and monitor. Extremely normal.
A tiny crunch has me zeroing in on the desk. Something shifts inside a bag of Cheetos.
It's mostly indignant stay-the-fuck-out-of-my-space instinct that has me across the room and smacking down a hand on the edge of the bag to keep it closed before I can really think it over. And, more importantly, before whatever's inside it can skitter out. The whatever inside squirms, little plastic crinkles sounding as I wrap a fist around the mouth of the bag. Fumbling for the desk light, I flick it on and lift the bag of chips.
God, I must be sleep deprived. Or insane. I swear to God there's the little outline of a person against the plastic, indignant little crinkles accompanying each shift and squirm within.
Swiping a hand over my desk to clear a space out, I turn the bag over, dumping its contents out onto its surface. There's a tiny skitter of Cheetos on wood and a little squeak, a tiny figure tumbling out ass-over-teakettle and covered in orange dust. The figure grumbles, head raising only to let out a little hiss and raise a hand against the light of my desk lamp.
It's a girl. A tiny girl, half the length of my index finger at maybe two or three inches tall, the thin membranes of tiny insect-like wings fluttering along her lower back. Disheveled blonde hair tumbles down her shoulders in a curly bob, blue eyes glaring up at me and little pink lips pulled into a moue of irritation.
"Jesus Christ," I breathe. "I'm going crazy."
Her frown turns into a scowl, a pair of little arms raising to fold over her chest as she rises unsteadily to her feet, brushing Cheeto residue off her dress. It's so tiny it looks like a doll's outfit, little puffed sleeves and a hem that falls just shy of her knees, feet bare. "What, have you never seen a fairy before?" she snaps, tossing her head. A Cheeto crumb flops out of her hair, bouncing against the wood and rolling off the side of the desk.
My jaw works for a moment, opening and closing. "…Is that a normal thing that happens?" I finally squeak.
She looks briefly confused. Then, she shrugs. "Dunno. Maybe?" Brushing another Cheeto crumb out of her hair, she picks up a piece of discarded Cheeto and starts chowing down in tiny bites. In her hands, it's huge, like if I picked up a watermelon and just went ham on it. Cute. "It's not like I get out much."
So. This is happening. Resting a hand against my desk — this whole thing has me feeling a little lightheaded — I sink down into my computer chair and just stare at her. "You're the thing that's been messing with my stuff."
She glances over, popping the last of her Cheeto piece into her mouth and chewing slowly, as if contemplating her next move. After a long, tense moment, she swallows. There's a hint of pink on her cheeks beneath the layer of bright orange dust, and she looks almost — embarrassed? "…Yeah," she admits. She shifts for a moment, brushing strands of blonde hair over her face as if to hide behind it, before letting out a groan, shoulders slumping. "Look, it's just — living in a tree is really boring, okay? You humans got, like, television and books and yummy food and stuff! What do we have? Mushrooms and bugs and birds and all that junk." Her little nose scrunches.
"You're…" I gesture a little helplessly. "I mean, you're a fairy. There's really nothing fun about it?"
"I mean, sure, it's fun if you like, I dunno, sitting around making flower crowns and watching mushrooms grow," she mutters, kicking at a Cheeto crumb. "But there's so many dumb rules! The rest of the court is always on my ass about 'being a proper fairy'," she says, making tiny air quotes and rolling her eyes. Her voice takes on a mocking falsetto. "Ooh, Clover, get out of your den and go help humans and make deals or whatever. Take a shower, you smell rancid. Stop using your magic to win League of Legends matches, blah blah blah!" Her wings flap in irritation, a quick little twitch, sending orange crumbs scattering.
I can't help the snort that escapes me, covering my mouth with a hand. "Oh my god, are you a fairy NEET?"
"Shut uuup!" she whines, wings fluttering again, sending more Cheeto dust skittering. With a frustrated huff, she plops down cross-legged onto the desk, leaning back on her palms. "It's. So. Boring! I wish I could just stay here and watch my animes and play games and eat delicious human food in peace and not have to worry about what boring Queen whats-her-name thinks!" Her lower lip pushes out in a tiny pout.
I stare for a long moment. "Why don't you?" Even as I'm saying it, it sounds ridiculous, but also… fairy roommate. Best idea ever.
Big blue eyes stare up. Her mouth drops open like she's just heard that a bazillion Christmases are coming early. We're simpatico, this tiny fairy girl and me. She jumps to her feet, wings fluttering to give her a brief moment of flight as her little arms wave excitedly in the air. "Really? You'd let me do that?"
"Why not?" I'm already thinking, bringing a hand up to my mouth in thought as I assemble a plan. "I could, like… I don't have a dollhouse or anything you could hang out in, but I've got one of those huge mason jars and some of my sister's old doll furniture — the expensive fancy stuff. It'd be like, a tiny NEET paradise. And I've got tons of snacks to steal. I'm, um, not sure how we'll manage getting you games you can play, and I don't think they make any tiny TVs that actually work, but…"
"Leave that to me!" Puffing up, she points a thumb at her chest, beaming brightly. "You get me the stuff, I can" — she waves a hand, a little twinkle of fairy dust shimmering in its wake — "take care of the rest."
A few minutes of sneaking around the house later, I've got a boxful of stuff. Scraps of cloth, a huge jar, my sister's old dollhouse furniture. She'd long since gotten rid of the dollhouse by now — or more accurately, Mom and Dad had gotten sick of it sitting ignored in the living room for years before they'd hauled it off to a thrift store — but she still had the furniture, shoved into a drawer to gather dust. I set the jar down, flipping the light on and dumping the box out onto the desk, a clatter of tiny furniture and silken cushions and cloth.
Clover grins, eyes glittering at the haul. She's already filling her arms with whatever she can carry — little pillows and bits of fleece, a tiny plastic console, a plastic TV about as big as her that makes her wobble when she hefts it up — and flying them into the jar in batches, leaving me to take care of the bigger items — wooden bedframe and little mattress, mini couch, and chairs. It takes a while, but eventually we've got something comfortable, if a little unrefined right now.
Hands on her tiny hips, she surveys the scene with a nod, brushing tiny strands of blonde hair from her face. "Pretty sweet digs," she remarks, grinning up at me. "Thanks for helping a fairy out. I promise, I'll be a totally cool roommate! You won't even notice me."
"Doubtful," I snort. I get the feeling she's a handful. But maybe the kind of handful I like.
When I yawn, mouth opening wide, she glances outside, looking a little sheepish. "Oh, right," Clover mutters, rubbing the back of her head with a tiny hand. "Sorry for keeping you up all night. Um… how about you go back to sleep? I'm gonna need some time to, y'know, do my thing. Sleep tight?" With a grin, she holds her hand up flat, thumb and forefinger outstretched to make a little OK sign.
Another yawn overtakes me as I nod. "Mm. Sounds good." The adrenaline is already starting to wear away, leaving me yawning and tired. Leaving my new roomie to her business, I settle back into bed with a flop, asleep almost the moment I hit the mattress.
Morning light has me squinting, beams harsh against my tired eyes. The sun, my mortal enemy. Hiss.
After a moment, I flop upright with a bleary blink, almost overbalancing. My nose scrunches as I snuffle a bit, rubbing at my face with a palm. The few blinks I take don't do much to wake me up, but a groggy glance in the direction of the cabinet I left the mason jar on does.
It's clear Clover's been busy: a scrap of dark cloth is strung up on a length of twine around the mouth of the jar like a curtain, pulled back just enough to let light stream in. I climb out of bed and shuffle over, peering inside. Aw. Looks like she's been getting herself comfortable in her new room — a square of patterned fleece lies crumpled on the little mattress, bed left unmade, the little plastic TV seeming a bit more lifelike with the way the sun glints off the screen. A wooden dollhouse shelf is stacked full of the tiny 1:12 scale dolls from my sister's old collection, but they look different now.
It's a little crude — the stiff, simplistic miniatures' figures are nothing like an anime figurine's, but you could tell she'd put some real love into it. Some of the clay from a bar I'd had lying around from an old project had been shaped into hair and painted, little cloth scraps meticulously sewn together into accurate facsimiles of various anime and videogame characters' outfits to decorate her room. I glance at a thumbnail-sized Hatsune Miku figure, grinning. Cool. "Nice. That could give Figma a run for their money."
A little head pokes out of a pile of blankets on the couch. Huh, I hadn't even noticed her amongst the mess of cloth and fleece. Clover smiles, hair mussed with sleep, blue eyes blinking slowly. She's clean now of Cheeto dust, thankfully, a little ribbon barely bigger than a staple tied into her hair. "Mornin'," she yawns, stretching with a flutter of wings as she flutters out, slinging her arms over the mouth of the mason jar to half-hover, half-dangle. When I reach a finger over to pet her head, she leans into the touch like a cat, little blonde strands tickling the pad of my finger.